


SWAP Meetings

by merelypassingtime



Series: The Well of Lost Plots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, Dialogue-Only, Humor, I Blame Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: A series of short dialogue only drabbles wherein Moran, Watson, and Lestrade meet at a pub to bitch about their mad genius hubbies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be unclear, this story both is and isn't finished. As the the summary says this is a series of very short conversations, and each one is complete mostly within itself. No cliffhangers, no over arching plot.  
> That being said, I have no end planned. Rather, I plan to add new stories to this as they pop in my head, without rhyme or reason.  
> 

John: “He treats me like I am his trained monkey! And not a very bright monkey at that!”  
Greg: “God, I know! When we first got together Mycroft actually told me he was just going to give keeping a goldfish a try.”  
Seb looked morosely down at his pint: “Jim calls me ‘Pet.’”  
Greg and John both wince.  
Seb: “I wouldn’t mind, but he does it in front of people I am meant to be threatening and it just makes me look ridiculous.”  
Greg: “That is rough, mate.”  
John: “Look, next time we are having a standoff, I’ll try to mention it to him. Throw in a bit of a taunt about how belittling his muscle is a bad idea”  
Seb: “I doubt it will help but thanks.”  
John: “No trouble. Us pets need to stick up for one another after all.”  
Greg, huffing a laugh: “That makes us sound like the bleeding SPCA.”  
Seb: “More like the Society for the Whining of Annoyed Pets.  
John: “That is right! And you know the next time we can meet that is what I am going to tell Sherlock, that I am going to an SWAP meeting.”  
Seb: “I’ll drink to that.”  
The three men click glasses.  
John: “To the SWAP.”  
Greg: “Long may we drink.” 

ooo

John: “Well, I did it. I told Sherlock I was going to my SWAP meeting, I even wrote it on the calendar.”  
Greg: “How’d that go?”  
John, sighing: “He didn’t notice, hell he didn’t even acknowledge that I was leaving. I’d give you even odds that he is puttering around the flat, talking to me right now.”  
Seb: “That sounds about right some days.”  
Greg: “Not for me, Mycroft always knows right where I am, what I am doing, and with who. I have never decided if he has people watching me or if he has tracking deceives sewn in all my clothes. I am actually a bit scared to ask.”  
John: “Doesn’t that drive you barmy? Knowing that you have no privacy?”  
Greg: “Nah, it is dead useful. I mean, part of why my marriage didn’t work was my crazy schedule, the late hours and the missed dinners and dates. I have never once had to call Mycroft to cancel a date. He always knows, usually before I do.”  
John: “I don’t know. Still sounds creepy to me.”  
Greg: “Says the man with a whole human’s worth of body parts in his refrigerator. And he can be really sweet with it. More than once he has surprised me by showing up where ever I am, whenever I just decided to call it time to eat with a gourmet meal. And after long days he makes sure a car is waiting for me and there is beer at home.”  
John: “It is probably his assistant who sets that up.”  
Greg: “So, it still counts.”  
John, voice dripping sarcasm: “Sure it does.”  
Greg, rolling his eyes: “You’re just jealous. How about you Seb? Does Jim use his web to keep tabs on you?”  
Seb: “God no, it is actually the other way around mostly. He likes to disappear for days and weeks at a time.”  
Greg: “Really?”  
Seb: “Oh, yeah. I mean just last Tuesday I woke up and he was gone. Took me the better part of three days to find him. He is substituting for a teacher in Spain.”  
Greg: “Really? Why?”  
Seb: “No idea.”  
John: “And you are just going to leave him there?”  
Seb: “Of course, as long as it is making him happy. He’ll call if he needs me.”  
John: “I could never just leave Sherlock like that.”  
Greg, snorting a laugh: “The world knows you couldn’t John. Beside we all know Sherlock only runs off so you’ll chase him.”  
John, with a shrug: “Fair enough, still I can’t believe you’d leave Moriarty out there alone.”  
Seb: “Oh, I didn’t. Luckily the French teacher at that school does some good mercenary work on the side. She is keeping an eye on him for me.”  
Greg: “Yeah, that sounds like my secondary school French teacher. She must have been seventy but she looked like she could take down a squad of soldiers anytime.  
John: “I think I had the same French teacher!”  
Seb: “Me too.” 

ooo

John: “Sorry, sorry, sorry I am so late! Did I miss much?”  
Greg: “Nah, score's still 0-0.   
John: “Ah, like it always is.”  
Seb: “Hey! Just because playing rugby left the both of you too concussed to appreciate the fine sport of football doesn't give you the right to be snide.”  
John: “Doesn't it?”  
Greg: “I am pretty sure it does.”  
Seb: “Wankers. It is lucky for you this isn't my club or you'd have a proper football riot on your hands for your disrespect.”  
Greg: “And we both count ourselves well and truly blessed, right John?”  
John: “I dunno, a bit of riot sounds pretty good right now.”  
Greg: “Eh, trouble in paradise? What has Sherlock done now?”  
John: “Oh, you know, it is nothing really.”  
Seb: “Dear God man, next you are going to tell us it is all fine. Just fucking complain already, then we'll complain back, we'll drink, and everyone will feel better. Or did you really think I was here to hear your stupid views on football?”  
John: “Right, well, it is just that you know these nights out are literally the only thing I have going on that doesn't revolve around Sherlock?”  
Greg: “Well, they are since he lost you your job at the clinic.”  
John: “Yeah, but to be fair that patient was a murderer and it would have been remiss of Sherlock to just let her go.”  
Greg: “But he didn't have to announce it right there in the waiting room.”  
John: “Yeah, he did. Can you see Sherlock resisting the urge to make a grand pronouncement in front of a spellbound audience?”  
Greg: “No. Come to that I guess I can't.”  
Seb: “I swear, I am out of circulation for a couple of weeks and I miss all the good stories...”   
John: “Really not that great a story, Sherlock and Rosie were just joining me for lunch when Sherlock spotted out a murderer waiting for a tetanus booster. Not much more to it.”  
Greg: “Except the rumpus he started when he told everyone in the waiting room just how the woman had killed her victim, in graphic, gory detail, in front of children...”  
John: “Yeah, that could have gone off better.”  
Greg: “'Better?' One of the mums had given him a black eye by the time I got there.”  
Seb: “God! Was Rosie okay?”  
John: “Oh yeah. Sherlock handed her off too me before he started in on his deductions. He maybe reckless with himself but he'd never put Rosie in harm's way.”  
Greg: “So they are still getting on? I have to confess I was worried he might get bored with her after awhile.”  
John: “Oh no! He still thinks Rosie hung the moon. Maybe literally. They are inseparable.”  
Seb, fiddling nervously with his glass: “Well, maybe some day we can arrange a play date for Rosie, broaden her horizons.”   
John: “What? You want me to bring her around for pints with me?”  
Seb: “No, it is just that Jim and I have a baby now.”  
(several seconds or stunned silence)  
Greg: “What?”  
Seb: “Jim and I have a son.”  
John: “Wow, sorry, but wow... I didn't even know you all were thinking about adoption.”  
Seb: “Well, it was all sort of a surprise to me too. Jim just brought him home one day a couple of weeks ago with a Prada diaper bag full of tiny tailored suits and told me to say hello to James Jr.”  
Greg: “Whoa, that is...” (trails off, unable to find the right words)  
Seb: “That is Jim all over. Never a dull moment, and turns out Jamie is the same. That is why I have been to busy to meet for the last couple of weeks.”  
Greg: “Now, don't take this the wrong way, but you are sure Jim didn't just snatch him from someone, right?”  
Seb, flatly: “I didn't ask and he didn't say. Is that going to be a problem, DI?”  
Greg, wincing: “Sorry, mate. I know we said no business talk here. Sometimes I just can't help but be a copper.”  
Seb still stiffly: “It is alright. And if it helps I think Jamie is really his, God knows how. They look just alike, same beautiful dark eyes and facial expressions and everything.”  
John, smiling to diffuse the tension: “Yeah, Rosie is starting to pick up Sherlock's expressions too, and it is bloody adorable hearing her try to say 'imbeciles.'”  
Seb: “Jamie is only about six months old, he hasn't really started talking yet.”  
Greg: “Aw, that is a sweet age. You trying to get him to say 'papa' first?”  
Seb: “Actually, Jim prefers to be papa, I am going to be daddy. And knowing Jamie I think his first word is going to be 'no.'”  
John: “Oh God, I remember the 'No' phase. It was all Rosie said forever!”  
Seb: “How long did that last?”  
John: “Dunno, I'll let you know if her or Sherlock grow out of it.”  
Greg, sputtering a laugh into his beer: “Too bloody right.”  
John: “Well, all the same congratulations! Welcome to fatherhood.”  
Greg, raising his glass: “Cheers, mate.”  
Seb: “Thanks.”  
John: “And next time you all are free, we will have to get together at a park or something and let Rosie and Jamie meet.”  
Seb: “Thanks John, I'd really like that. Um, until then I do have some pictures on my phone if you'd like to see him...”   
Greg: “We'd love to.”


	2. Chapter 2

John, answering his mobile: “Oh, hi Greg! We were just talking about you when--”  
Greg, cutting him off: “Yeah, hi. Look, I need to know if you happen to have my handcuff key. 'Cause I have looked in all my pockets twice but it isn't there. The last time I remember having it was when we arrested the arsonist in Kent, and I made that joke about how compared to the arsonist Sherlock wasn't so hot. It was just a joke, but Sherlock gave me that look like he is the bloody Queen and is not amused.”  
John: “Yeah, I know that look.”  
Greg: “Well they you know it is almost always followed by me losing a badge or my cigarettes or that one time he replaced my wallet with the one with all the cartoon puppies.”  
John: “Paw Patrol.”  
Greg: “Whatever, the point is I can't find my key.”  
John: “Okay, okay. Just calm down a bit, mate.”  
Greg: “You don't understand, I need that key right now. Do you have it or not?”  
John: “Sorry, but I don't think we do. You know he gets pretty smug, well, even more smug after he pulls something like that and he hasn't been. Do you want me to text him and ask?”  
Greg: “God no! Don't!”  
John: “Fine, I won't. Why don't you just get Sally or someone to unlock them? I mean, it is not like you need a specific set to open yours right? “  
Greg: “I am not at the station.”  
John: “Crime scene?”  
Greg: “No... I am at home.”  
John, trying and failing to suppress laughter: “You are at home and having a handcuffing emergency?”  
Greg, sighing: “Yeah, that is about the size of it.”  
John, now laughing outright: “Oh my God! How long has poor Mycroft been handcuffed to the bed?”  
Greg: mumbles indistinctly  
John: “Sorry, I didn't quite catch that.”  
Greg: “About three hours.”  
(fresh gales of laughter ring out)  
Seb: “He must have been a very naughty boy.”  
Greg: “Is that you Seb? Do you have me on speakerphone?!”  
John: “Sorry, I would have told you but you didn't give me a chance.”  
Greg: “Bastards. What is Seb even doing over there?”  
John: “We were at the park with Jamie and Rosie. You knew we were going to have a playdate.”  
Greg: “The whole park is hearing this?!”  
John: “No, we are back at Baker Street.”  
Greg: “That is something at least.”  
John: “Though I could go get Mrs Hudson if you'd like. She'd probably be able to help.”  
Greg: “Maybe I should just hang up and call her. God know the two of you aren't being any help.”  
Seb: “Sorry.”  
John, at nearly the same time: “I am sorry. Have you tried picking the lock?”  
Greg: “Of course I have! Like calling you was my first choice.”  
John: “So, I take it that didn't work.”  
Greg: “No. It's way harder than Youtube makes it look. And it is not like we have bobby pins laying around the house or anything.”  
Seb: “Do you have a disposable pen?”  
Greg: “Yeah.”  
Seb: “Great. Get it.”  
Greg: “Okay.”  
Seb: “Now take it apart.”  
Greg: “What?”  
Seb: “Just do it.”  
Greg: “Okay, now what.”  
Seb: “Take the plastic tube with the ink in it and shove it into the the joint of the cuffs. It'll keep the teeth from catching and you can pull them open.”  
Greg: “Really?”  
Seb: “Yeah, it has worked for me. Of course if you'd like we could switch on Facetime and I could walk you through it.”  
Greg: “No! Look, I'll give it a try.”  
John: “And if it doesn't work, call us back and we can come by with a hacksaw. Or more lube, whatever you need.”  
Greg: “Why am I friends with you again? Thank Seb, you've been helpful.”  
Seb: “Good luck.”  
John: “And godspeed.”  
Greg, ending the call: “Berk.”  
John, looking at the dark phone screen: “Think he'll call back?”  
Seb: “I doubt it, but we should record it if he does...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to MoonShineD for this idea, even if our opinions on how the pets would be treated differed. ;)  
> Huge thanks also to my incomparable beta no-reason-at-all for helping me fix the hot mess that was my first posting of this chapter. :")  
> (Also, my head canon for Seb has always been that he is American. Shrugs, I mean I am not great at brit-picking anyhow, but some of the Americanisms here were intentional)

Seb: “Ah, there he is!”  
Greg: “Sorry to be late. There was maintenance on the Tube. I ended up having to take a bus with what felt like half of London to get here.”  
John: “Oh? I just thought maybe you had gotten tied up again.”  
Greg: “Well, I was tied up in traffic. I was just telling you.”  
Long pause, expectant from John, blank from Greg  
Seb, sighing: “John is trying to make a joke about bondage.”  
Greg: “What?!”  
Seb: “Yeah, sorry. It was a really bad joke...”  
John: “Come on now, I thought I was showing great restraint.”  
Groans all around  
Greg: “You wanker. I'm never calling you for help again.”  
John: “That’s fair.”  
Seb: “Anyway, I'm actually kinda surprised Mycroft didn't fix the Tube for your commute.”  
Greg: “Even he can't do everything, and the Tube is a law onto itself.”  
Seb: “He could’ve sent one of his black cars for you.”  
Greg: “Yeah and he probably would’ve, but, well, I just had a talk with him about being overbearing.”  
John: “A Holmes? Overbearing? No! You don't say?”  
Greg: “Yeah, you've a point there. But still, I think he’s picking his battles carefully right now.”  
John: “How'd you manage that?”  
Greg: “He promised to back off a bit if I agreed to wear this.”  
Greg pulls up the cuff of his jacket, revealing a thick black silicone band  
Seb: “That’s one of those fitness things, right? That counts your steps and heart rate? Or did Mycroft just full out tag you like a wild animal?”  
Awkward silence  
Seb: “Oh god, it is a tag, isn't it?”  
Greg: “Sort of. It’s sorta both.”  
John: “And what does that mean.”  
Greg: “You know how I was a bit under the weather last week?”  
John: “A bit of a cold, right? Nothing too bad, even if you probably shouldn't have been outside looking at crime scenes.”  
Greg: “Well, maybe not, but someone needs to keep my team from killing Sherlock.”  
John: “I could do that.”  
Greg: “I guess I should’ve said, someone needs to keep you from killing my team for looking wrong at your husband.”  
John: “Damn right.”  
Seb, with a sweeping hand motion: “Anyway...”  
Greg: “Right, so I had a cold, and Mycroft was worried, so he gave me this ‘fitness’ band. I thought it was sweet of him until the first time I sneezed with it on and the thing summoned a bleeding ambulance that took me against my will to the private practice doctor who’d been receiving a live feed of my vitals from the band all day.”  
John: “Wow. That is... yeah, wow.”  
Greg: “So Mycroft and I had a talk about boundaries, and I agreed to wear the thing if he agreed that unless my heart actually stops, he wouldn't intervene.”  
Seb: “And you’re okay with that?”  
Greg: “I guess.”  
Seb: “If you’re sure. I mean, I can show you how to get it off without a break in the signal, and I bet John can rustle up a homeless person who'd wear it for a few pounds...”  
Greg: “No, it’s really okay. It isn't like I didn't know before that he was tracking me; this is just a step up.”  
John: “Okay, but remember it’s a slippery slope. If you show up one day with 'Property of Mycroft Holmes: Please return if found' tattooed on your forehead, we’re just going to laugh.”  
Seb: “Speak for yourself, John! I won't be laughing.”  
Greg: “That is because you are a good man and a gentleman, Seb.”  
Seb: “I'll be too busy taking pictures and posting them online.”  
Greg: “Okay, I was wrong. You both are bastards. But I'll be fine. I mean, I know it is kinda messed up, but it’s just how he shows he cares.”  
John: “Yeah, guess I can’t really say anything. I mean, the last time I was sick Sherlock bought one of every sort of flu medication that Boots had to offer and insisted that he was doing an experiment on... something, I forget what he said. The point was that I’d have to try each medicine while he made observations about my health. He spent three days taking my temperature and blood pressure hourly until my fever was gone.  
Greg: “That’s sweet.”  
John: “As soon as I was doing better he demanded that I make him tea then sulked for the rest of the day.”  
Greg, sarcastically: “Nice.”  
John, shrugging: “Sherlock still has to be Sherlock, after all.”  
Greg: “God, don’t we know.”  
Seb: “Well, not everyone’s husband retains a staff to fuss over every little thing.”  
John: “So Moriarty doesn’t spoil you when you are sick?”  
Seb: “Fuck no! Whenever I get sick, Jim just leaves.”  
Greg: “What? Really?”  
Seb: “Yeah, I had a tough time with hay fever last fall and Jim walked into the apartment, took one look at all the Kleenexes, and walked back out. Told me to text him when I was less slimy.”  
John: “Wow, yeah… You win for worst reaction.”  
Seb: “I honestly think it’s because he can't bear to see me suffer when there’s nothing he can do about it.”  
Greg: “You always see the best in people.”  
Seb: “No, I don’t really see anything good in people as a rule, but Jim is a better man than you are willing to believe.”  
Greg: “He left you all alone to fend for yourself when you were sick!”  
Seb: “I was hardly alone; we have a whole flock of minions.”  
Greg: “That’s not the same as having someone there who cares about you.”  
Seb: “Oh, and I suppose it would be better if he had me tagged and constantly monitored by a team of Britain's top scientists?”  
John: “Alright, alright. Look, to each their own, right? There is a reason we each ended up with the madman that we did.”  
Greg, grudgingly: “Fine.”  
Seb: “Yeah, okay.”  
John: “Alright. Well, my drink is empty, and poor Greg hasn't even had one to start with. Do you mind grabbing us another round, Greg?”  
Greg: “Okay. You’re right, things would look better with a pint in my hand. Sorry, Seb.”  
Seb: “Don't worry about.”  
John: “Good. Tab's already open. Bring us back a round and we’ll get back to the real reason we came here.”  
Greg: “That reason being of course getting smashed?”  
Seb: “Nah, it’s clearly to complain.”  
John: “You’re both wrong. We’re here to mercilessly tease Greg about his misadventures in handcuffing.”  
Greg: “If that’s the case, I’m getting shots, too.”  
Seb: “I won’t argue with that…”  
Greg: “Good, and John is paying for them.”  
John: “Whatever you say, bondage boy. Just get our damn drinks.”  
Greg, walking towards the bar: “Yeah, yeah.”  
When Greg is out of earshot  
John: “What the hell, Seb?”  
Seb: “What?”  
John: “You need to ease up on Greg. I know that Mycroft’s a bit much, but that’s between him and Greg.”  
Seb: “He treats Greg like a trained poodle! One on a very short leash.”  
John: “Maybe…”  
Seb glares  
John: “Okay, you’re right, but it works for them. Like being with Moriarty works for you, god knows why.”  
Seb, sighing: “Yeah, okay. As long as you’re going to scold Greg for talking bad about Jim too. Fair is fair.”  
John: “I will. I mean, I know Mycroft is way on the other end of the spectrum from your Jim as far as mad geniuses go, but they’re still closer together than either is to a ‘normal’ husband.”  
Seb: “True.”  
John: “And us pets still need to stick together for our own sanity.”  
Seb: “Okay, point made. I’ll lay off about Greg getting microchipped if you’ll stop the handcuff jokes.”  
John: “Oh, come on. I plan to milk that for years…”  
Seb: “Nope. You are going to let it go in the name of pet solidarity.”  
John: “Killjoy.”  
Seb: “Or I could bring up the time you came to a showdown with green hands.”  
John: “You wouldn’t!”  
Seb: “Yeah, I would. I bet poor Greg would love to know about you and the experimental lube.”  
John, turning pale: “No!”  
Seb: “Yes.”  
Greg, arriving with a tray of drinks: “Yes to what?”  
John, quickly: “Nothing!”  
Greg: “Still joking about me behind my back, eh?”  
John: “Never.”  
Seb: “Yup, never.”  
Greg: “Right. It’s just a good thing I already had a shot while I was waiting for the rest of the drinks.”  
Seb, with forced cheerfulness: “So, Greg. If Mycroft worries over every little sneeze you have, does he do the same thing for himself?”  
Greg: “Hell, no! He never admits to being sick and works until he drops.”  
John: “Must be genetic. Sherlock’s just the same.”  
Greg: “I know! I was there when he had the stomach flu.”  
John: “And threw up all over Anderson.”  
Greg: “Yeah, though I’m pretty sure that was his plan all along.”  
John: “I can’t disagree. He did go home to bed fairly easily once that had been accomplished.”  
Greg: “Ah, but did he stay in bed?”  
John: “For a little while, until demanding my full attention and being waited on hand and foot got ‘dull.’”  
Seb: “Then he pushed himself again?”  
John: “Actually, I was lucky that time in a way. Rosie caught the bug too and I got her to pretend that she would only stay in bed if Sherlock stayed with her.”  
Seb: “Nice.”  
John: “It was Rosie’s idea. She’s a devious little thing. Her and Sherlock are already evenly matched in cunning.”  
Greg: “I envy you, last time My was sick I just about had to tie him to the bed so he’d take the time to recover before going back to work.  
Loaded silence  
Greg: “Oh, god. I didn’t mean literally...”  
More silence, John looking pained, Seb pointedly examining his hands  
John, downs his shot and turns to Seb: “So, how’s Moriarty as a patient? I always pictured him being a baby about it.”  
Seb: “I dunno. I’ve never seen him sick.”  
John: “Really? How? You guys have been together forever!”  
Seb: “Seven years, on and off. But in all that time he’s never so much as sniffled in front of me.”  
Greg: “Wow. Great constitution.”  
Seb: “Could be, but I also think he might go off when he’s sick. You know he likes to disappear, sometimes he comes back looking thin and awfully pale, even for him.”  
John: “Why though?”  
Seb: “I sorta think that he doesn’t let anyone see him when he’s ill or off his game. Once when an operation went completely sideways I saw Jim break his arm in at least two places. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t complain the whole time we were running, and insisted on splitting up to ‘cover our tracks.’ I didn’t see him again until the cast was off.”  
Greg: “Still, why wouldn’t he want your help? He’s got to know you wouldn’t make fun of him or anything.”  
Seb, shrugging: “I don’t pry. I know a bit about rough childhoods and not showing weakness. If he’s more comfortable being alone, shouldn’t that be more important than me nagging him to trust me and making him feel bad?”  
John: “You, my friend, are a certifiable saint. Moriarty’s a lucky guy.”  
Seb: “And I make sure he knows it too. Though, to be fair, it could also be that he’s just never sick. So far Jamie has been blessedly healthy.”  
Greg: “Knock on wood.”  
Seb raps on the table  
John, holding up his pint: “How about a toast then?”  
Greg picks up his own pint, Seb picks up his shot glass  
John: “To good health.”  
Greg and Seb: “Good health!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as ever, to my wonderful beta reader no-reason-at-all. :)  
> You might notice I finally gave up on using quotation marks around every line. It just seemed unnecessary. I plan to take them off the first three parts soon, just not this morning... ;)

Greg, as John arrives back at the table and sets down three glasses: Ah, the returning hero!  
John: Yeah, yeah. Glad to see I was missed.  
Seb: Well, the drinks were missed…  
John, swatting Seb’s arm: Arsehole.  
Greg: Well, I for one did miss you, John.  
John, suspiciously: That so? Why?  
Greg: ‘Cause I’ve been dying for you to tell Seb about Sherlock’s new haircut.  
Seb, deadpan: Oh, that does sound fascinating. Are you going to tell me about each individual hair, or are you willing to summarize by lock?  
John: Oh, I can summarize it. Rosie plus a pair of scissors plus Sherlock napping on the couch equals avant garde new style.  
Seb: Ah...  
Greg: Avant garde? Really? I’d have said he looked old school punk.  
John: It was more avant garde when it happened, before he got his stupidly expensive barber to even it out.  
Seb: I think that they like to be call stylists.  
John: God, don’t tell me you spend fifty quid for a haircut, too.  
Seb: Er, anyway. So, the stylist evened it out?  
Greg, pulling out his phone: Yup, and now it’s a bloody mohawk! See, here he is at the station. Ooo, and here’s one of Sally’s reaction.  
Seb: Looks like she is sucking on a lemon. But, really, the mohawk sorta suits Sherlock.  
John, scoffing: Christ knows, that man could make a mullet look good.  
Greg: You’re just biased.  
John: And rightly so. Besides, it made our Christmas photo this year extra festive.  
Seb: Ah, did you get him to dye it red and green?  
John: No, but he did spike it up.  
Seb: I’ll make sure to hang that on the fridge. Maybe it’ll make Jim decide to revisit his punk days.  
Greg: Fuck, Moriarty had a punk phase?  
Seb: Oh yeah. Not the mohawk kind, but when we met he was rocking heavy guyliner and bright colored suits.  
John: Please tell me you have pictures!  
Seb: No, sorry.  
John: Hey! We shared ours!  
Seb: Yeah, but your guys aren’t as good at destroying evidence as Jim is.  
Greg: You mean, Sherlock isn’t. You don’t see me flashing around any photos of Mycroft’s chubby teens.  
John: Sherlock has several of those pictures. He was adorable.  
Greg: Never say that to his face.  
John: I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m still hoping to trade him for a pic of Pirate Sherlock.  
Seb: Man, you guys are just the best husbands ever. You should get gold medals.  
John: Says the man who doesn’t have any pictures of his husband at all. That right there knocks you down to at least a silver medal. Probably the bronze.  
Seb, shrugging: Eh, we’ve never been very sentimental about the past. Doesn’t mean I’m not the best husband here.  
Greg: Pretty sure it does, mate.  
John: Especially since I’m clearly the best husband here.  
Greg: Yeah, right! I am the best, because I have undeniably the best Christmas gift ever for my husband.  
John: You got him a cake. No, two cakes!  
Greg: You spent too much time with Sherlock. I didn’t get him a cake. What I got him was out of going back to the Holmes household for Christmas dinner.  
John: You didn’t! How’d you manage that? Sherlock has been trying to worm out of those for years!  
Greg: I told them I’m planning to propose on Christmas and that I wanted to do it at home, with the tree all lit up and the fairy lights twinkling and everything.  
Seb: But you guys have been married for years.  
Greg: Ah, but Mycroft has never bothered telling them that, has me?  
John: But, then what is gonna happen when ‘Mummy’ wants to start planning your wedding?  
Greg, looking crestfallen: Oh...Oh, fuck.  
John: Didn’t think that all the way through, did you Mr ‘Best Husband’?  
Greg: Maybe not, but I bet I did better than you. Let me guess you got Sherlock the case flies for Jack the Ripper for Christmas.  
John, scoffing: Why would I do that? He solved that ages ago.  
Seb: Really? Who did it?  
John: Wouldn’t you like to know?  
Seb: He didn’t tell you, did he?  
John: Okay, fine. No, he didn’t. The wanker says he figured it out in Uni, but then it was dull so he deleted it.  
Greg: Of course he did. Guess it doesn’t really matter, the guilty party must have been dead for more than a hundred years.  
Seb: Unless it was a vampire.  
John: Yes, unless it was a vampire… You know the sad thing is I can’t decide if that’d make it more or less boring to Sherlock.  
Greg: Yeah, so, what did you get him if it wasn’t an immortal killer?  
John: If you must know, I got him another skull for the mantle.  
Seb: Why? So he can use them as bookends?  
John: No, to keep the other skull company. You know, so it never has to be alone again for all of eternity.  
Greg: Wow, that is actually really sweet. And morbid.  
Seb: And fitting. I am sure he’ll love it.  
John: I hope he will. He’s horrible to shop for.  
Greg: I feel your pain. What about you, Seb. Got a big gift planned for your husband, or is it something I don’t want to know about?  
Seb: Nope, not a thing.  
Greg looks confused  
John: Didn’t you know? Seb’s a real Ebenezer Scrooge, he hates everything to do with Christmas—  
Seb, interrupting: Hey, not everything!  
John: Everything.  
Seb: No, I like sugar cookies and the Nutcracker.  
Greg: Sugar cookies?  
John: Christmas biscuits.  
Greg nods in understanding  
John: And that's still close enough to hating everything. Violently.  
Seb: Yeah, that’s fair.  
John: Damn right, it is. I still remember you assaulting those drunk guys that were singing Feliz Navidad.  
Seb: I asked them nicely to stop first.  
John: Then knocked all four of them to the floor when they didn’t.  
Seb: Well, they needed to learn good manners. And I really can’t stand that song.  
Greg: Really? But how can you hate Christmas music? It’s all so jolly.  
Seb: You've clearly never worked retail.  
Greg: Nope, but you have?  
Seb: Oh, yeah. For six years, through high school and college.  
Greg: That’s hard to picture. Somehow I just assumed you joined the military young.  
Seb: Nope. I worked all the way through college in retail hell.  
Greg: What’s your degree in?  
Seb: Does it matter?  
John: Philosophy.  
Seb: Hey!  
John: You told me.  
Seb: When I was drunk.  
John shrugs  
Seb: So, yeah, my degree is in philosophy. And when I graduated I found to my dismay that the only thing that degree got me was some truly massive student loan payments. So I joined the army. It was better than working another Christmas.  
Greg: That seems a little extreme.  
Seb: I’ll say it again, you’ve never worked retail.  
Greg: And it really made you hate Christmas that much.  
Seb: It certainly helped.  
Greg: Wh-  
John, interrupting: Yeah, so now every December Seb here packs himself and his husband up and goes somewhere where Christmas isn’t celebrated. Where you guys headed this year? Nepal again?  
Seb: Nah, Jim wanted a high class of hotel and I wanted a shorter flight. So we decided to try Morocco.  
John: Makes sense, not taking Jamie on a long flight. I’m sure the other passengers’ll appreciate it.  
Seb: I think Jim would annoy them more than Jamie. The last time we took a commercial flight, an hour into it I had to stop Jim from arming the other passengers and offering a million pounds divided between whoever was still alive when we landed. Since then, we’ve always flown by charter jet.  
Greg: Wow, yeah. Good call there.  
Seb: Saves me a lot of cleaning up and paperwork.  
John: Doesn’t Jim still get bored on the charter flight?  
Seb: Surprisingly no. We use this little, tiny company and it seems like something goes disastrously wrong on every flight. It amuses the hell out of Jim, watching them struggle to hide it from us.  
Greg: Sounds like chaos.  
Seb: Yeah, Jim loves it. We’ve been quietly keeping them in business for years.  
John: So when is your flight tomorrow?  
Seb: Nineish.  
John: Oh, then this should be your last round, shouldn't it?  
Seb, holding up his glass: Yeah, probably. But just one last toast then: Merry Christmas to you guys. May your holidays be happy.  
John: And may yours be non-existent.  
All: Cheers!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Society for the Whining of Annoyed Pets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042211) by [THEULTIMATESHIPPER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/THEULTIMATESHIPPER/pseuds/THEULTIMATESHIPPER)




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